


Toilet Rim

by Skepsiss



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Casual, Comedy, Fluff, Gore, M/M, Not Shippy, Violence, Vomit, jokey, roadrat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8669836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skepsiss/pseuds/Skepsiss
Summary: So this is a comedy??? Another thing to do with vomiting so if that bugs you you probs want to go now. I never write comedy so this is a challenge to myself… hopefully it is okay? I would love some feedback on how to make it better. I usually write so serious… so I want to branch out. Also this is loosely based on Aren Hansen (of Game Grumps) sick life story when he was sick.





	

“Put down the seat,” Roadhog yelled from across the room, his voice booming so it carried as a shout despite his demeanour being a rather relaxed one. Junkrat snorted and zipped up his pants, flushing without putting the rim down.  
“Fuck no,” the blonde retorted, not even washing his hands as he drew his dirty fingers under his nose to wipe away a stray film of snot. “Not like we live with no girls, fuckin’ put ‘er down yourself when you shit.”   
‘Rat clambered onto the bed bedside the man and spread himself up, craning his neck at a ridiculous angle to look at the TV.

Junkrat had been feeling ill since this morning; his belly was bloated and his shoulders weak as he lay on the bed. His back was sore from the pain, the acid burn in his throat from puking. He had thrown up once that morning and he was now being nursed back to health by Roadhog. Wasn’t much to do for it, so they were just sitting watching Telly in the motel room.   
Just sit and wait and let his body work it out.   
Radiation sickness didn’t always end in him drying out in the desert sun. Sometimes it was one spat and that was it for the day; but he still felt awful and it set the day to easy-mode. 

 

Casually the blonde dug into his ear with his pinky to retrieve a nugget of wax. Flicking the spec across the room after looking at the yellowy wax on his nail.   
Roadhog flipped through the channels, resting his hand on his large belly. The round force jiggling under the minuet weight of them both on the bed together. They were far from ideals; rat with his bone tight skin, stretched over him like a canvas with muscles. Roadhog in too small pants and a gut spilling out over him like a Botero paintng. ‘Hog snorted from behind his mask, sucking up phlegm into his throat and letting it ruminate there. Not your classic villains really. Sure, there was blood caked under their finger nails, and gunpowder in their hair, but it was all washed over with their causal demeanour. Last week they had cut a man in two; actually fixed it out so the placement of ‘Rat pipe bombs would blow the guy in two directs for the kicks. It was fun—at be it grotesque. But they didn’t know the dude, didn’t seem like it would matter. From what ‘Rat had gathered, he wasn’t a family man, he didn’t have a particularly good rep so it made the job that much easier. They were for hire, not investigation.

They stopped on the National Geographic’s channel and waited as the narrator explained about the growth of mushrooms in the wild. The bloom and spill of those creepy little fungi pushing out of the dirt. Narrator sounded cool though, and it reminded ‘Rat of the man that announced the story for Winnie the Pooh.   
“Shit,” the Junker mumbled, getting up with a great deal of effort. The bed slouched and Roadhog looked over to the younger as his side of the mattress dipped towards the floor. Junkrat’s stomach was turning again and he was going to puke in no time flat. 

With light steps the blonde made it to the washroom and stuck his head in the toilet, releasing what was left of his lunch into the porcelain. He lurched with each step because of his peg leg, and his made his walk gangky and weird. Like a witch with a bad back making her way across a slick field. The noise he made wasn’t the greatest either; that retching shout where you almost make a show of the sickness in you.   
Junkrat reeled back and vomited, the liquid filled with chunks as it splashed to meet the toilet water.   
“Jesus,” ‘Rat muttered, wiping his mouth and looking over his shoulder at Mako in the other room. “Nawh I’m good mate. Don’t worry about me,” he joked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.   
Roadhog grunted and peered over at the other, seeming to gauge if I was worth it to get up and go to the man. Jamie was in no serious condition with his puking, and they had come to some kind of agreement that when the sickness was bad they would support one another—but as of right now there was no point. Puke and have it over with. 

Junkrat spat a few times into the toilet, getting rid of any foreign chunks that were stuck in his gums. Jeez it felt like a little town was taking root in his gums—wedging between his teeth as he spat and got the muted food into the toilet. He waited to see if it was over, if another spew was on him or if this was it for the next hour.   
“Man am I missin’ how to fuckin’ grow ‘shrooms?” He asked, craning his neck in an attempt to see the telly. “Was lookin’ forward to that part. Damn Brit given us the juice yet on it?” He was rambling, spitting a few more time without looking.   
The turn in his gut was there again though and he pulled his head around quick to retch again. He moved so far in fact, pushing his head into the toilet he didn’t see the toilet rim start to fall. He turned and slammed his face forwards, the rim clipping him hard on the bridge of his nose.   
“Fuck!” The younger yelled between gurgle of vomit, blood starting to spurt from his face. He missed the toilet, hit the ground and the blood started to poor from him, spraying the wall from the angle. The toilet lid slammed shut, the heavy CLINK of the porcelain falling on the man’s fingers and making his sprawl further across the ground.   
“Jesus Christ!” The Junker was yelling; he fell to the side, blood still coating the floor in horrible globs as his vomit mixed in with it. 

Junkrat reached for a motel towel with all his effort, practically lunging across the room to snatch those yellowy-white towels to start mopping up.   
“What’re you doing?” Roadhog asked from the other room, evidently not having looked up yet.   
“Shit, shit!” ‘Rat shouted again, blood gushing down his face and into his mouth, making him spit in revulsion. He was trying to sop up the mess, instead he was spreading it across the floor and getting it between the tiles. Droll dripping from his mouth as the wound kept bleeding. Noses were the worst! They bleed none stop!   
Roadhog was finally up now, lumbering to the washroom no doubt having been finally called over because of all the shouting.   
“What—“ the elder was starting, setting one foot into the room and stopping. Well, going was more accurate; slipping. His heavy boots meeting the tile floor and slipping right under him from the spit, and the vomit and the blood now being spread across the ground. And he was down. Falling backwards as he reached desperately for the door frame and missed—legs straight, hands wild as he fell back first into the door. His head made contact with the pathetic wood door, forcing it to swing open further and slamming it into the opposing wall. Splinters flew out from behind the man’s white head of hair, the room now clattering with noise as Roadhog went down, half the door flew across the room to impact the lamp on the far side of the bed.   
“Shit!” Junkrat was yelling again, crawling over to the other, blood and snot dripping from him still. His knees were a mural of blood and vomit, hand still trailing the now stained yellow towel across the ground.   
“Roadie! You okay mate?” ‘Rat was asking, his stomach suddenly giving a sickly turn. Shit, oh no. He hadn’t been paying attention to the blood spilling into his mouth, down his throat, and now into his stomach. His gut was already empty, and he had no doubt swallowed too much blood to let a sick stomach sit well.

It was a different type of sickness, but it had ‘Rat back at the toilet anyways. Body flailing as he turned to pushed his head against the rim once more. Pink fluid hitting the already tainted toilet water.   
The room was a mosaic of red and yellow and pink and brown with ‘Rat hunched over the toilet once more and Roadhog slowly coming to.  
“Fuck,” ‘Hog was muttering, slowly sitting up and rubbing his head from the fall.   
“Sorry!” Junkrat was calling from inside the toilet bowl, body a mess of fluids as the blood was still running from his nose.   
It was like a murder scene in the damn washroom—blood on the walls, across the floor, one man down and another retching in the toilet. Could have been the best orchestrated kill of all time, but no. It was just some Junker puking his guts out like an idiot. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Mako was asking, gripping the washroom counter to pull himself up and out of the mess.   
“Whole lotta things mate,” ‘Rat replied, looking over to the other with a crooked smile—blood staining his teeth with the steady flow still pouring down over him. “Shouda known that by now.”


End file.
